


Softly, Slowly

by astano



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Angie works her way into almost every aspect of Peggy's life. And Peggy? Peggy's tired of fighting it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softly, Slowly

It happens slowly at first. So slowly Peggy almost doesn't realise it's starting to happen at all. Angie works her way into Peggy's life with a warm smile, a piece of pie and a hot cup of coffee, and the offer of a place to stay. It's nothing, really, but the tentative hand of friendship, and though every part of her that still feels the nauseating rush of grief at the memory of Colleen's murder - not on her hands, exactly, she knows that, but at least because of their association, their friendship - though every part of her knowing that, tries to push Angie away, she can't quite do it in the end.

Angie serves her a cup of coffee with a smile and Peggy feels a little of the tension of her day slip away, like Angie's smile is a balm that cures all, a miracle drug of sorts. It's become something that happens with alarming frequency, this way she's starting to let her guard down around Angie, to relax and let things go. Peggy tries to fight it, every day struggling to hold onto the hard reality that people around her don't seem to fare well, but Angie is kind and warm and seems to be everything Peggy wants, and after long days fighting her colleagues, feeling sometimes like she's still fighting for the world (and sometimes still actually fighting for the world), she doesn't have the energy to fight this too.

"How's your day been, English?" Angie asks, following the routine they've developed in the last few weeks.

Peggy responds, being as truthful as she can within the constraints of her necessary deceptions. She hates the lying too, hates the half-truths and deflections, and thinks time and time again about revealing herself to Angie - at least to the degree where pretending she works for the phone company isn't a part of their every interaction. She will, she knows, because Angie's continued presence in her life is becoming as vital to her existence as food and water and every other basic biological need.

It's terrifying in a way that leaves her breathless if she thinks about it for too long, and Peggy can do nothing but hope Angie feels the same way.

Angie reaches across the counter and squeezes Peggy’s hand where it’s cupping her coffee, offering some small measure of comfort, of solidarity, support. Her palm is cool against the back of Peggy’s hand, and Peggy’s breath catches in her throat. She quickly becomes mesmerised by the feel of Angie’s thumb rubbing back and forth over the fleshy part of her hand, where thumb and forefinger meet. Peggy’s tongue flicks out, wetting lips that have gone inexplicably dry, and when she looks back up again, meeting Angie’s eyes with her own, she thinks that maybe, yes, Angie feels this too.

As is ever the case, their conversation is interrupted loudly by a demand for a refill from across the room. Angie smiles regretfully and pulls her hand away. It’s Peggy’s cue to drain her cup and get up from the counter.

“I’ll see you at home,” she says.

“Don’t start on the schnapps without me.”

Angie’s laughing as Peggy heads out the door, and Peggy laughs too. One day she might tell Angie she’s more a whiskey kind of girl, but not today, not when with those words, Angie’s inviting herself further into Peggy’s life. No, she would, she realises, drink all the schnapps in the world, if it meant a few more hours in Angie’s company.

~

They talk for hours, slowly sipping one drink before Peggy turns to tea. Angie pours herself another, giggling softly about needing Peggy to take care of her if the alcohol goes to her head. It doesn’t, but Peggy takes care of her anyway, pulling her soft, knitted blanket over them both when Angie starts to shiver.

“I’ve always been cold,” Angie says. “Ever since I was a girl. I think it runs in my blood. My Ma was always cold too.”

Peggy wraps them tighter and tells Angie about the winters in England when she was growing up. Getting into trouble for snowball fights in the playground and dripping melting snow all over the hall come assembly time. About how she punched Billy Clarke in the face that one time for picking on a boy half his age, and how the smarting of her palm from the three strikes of the cane was nothing compared to the look on Billy’s face the next time they met.

Her childhood, at least, is one area she can be completely free about, and she thinks of everything she can say to make Angie’s face crease with laughter, and then thinks of some more, because it’s a sight and sound she never wants to end.

Later, when their laughter and conversation has slipped slowly into the stillness of comfortable quiet, Peggy makes herself another cup of tea. She thinks Angie might have fallen asleep, but when she walks back to the bed, Angie’s watching her thoughtfully, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and Peggy knows then. She simply knows.

It happens slowly at first. Peggy places her hot cup of tea down carefully on the dresser and walks back towards Angie. Angie who’s still watching her, scooting up on the bed and reaching out a hand for Peggy to take. It happens slowly at first, but then faster. So fast Peggy’s left reeling from Angie’s hand pulling her forward, the feel of lips against her own, the sweet taste of Angie’s favourite drink made sweeter still, coming from Angie’s tongue sliding hotly against her own.

She clambers awkwardly onto the bed, still kissing Angie, with their hands still clasped tight, like Angie’s afraid Peggy might run again, make a flimsy excuse and bolt for the door. She’d laugh about it, if there wasn’t a small part in the back of her mind desperate to do just that. But it _is_ a small part.

The larger part of her is completely taken over by the soft sound Angie makes as Peggy eases them down to lay side by side on her bed, the slight blush in her cheeks when Peggy’s fingertips brush over her face, and the warmth in her chest when Angie smiles up at her and says, “What took you so long, English?”

Peggy doesn’t have an answer, so she does the only sensible thing and kisses Angie again.


End file.
